Motorcycle Helmet

I sat down on the uncomfortable seat as the bus drove off again. My backpack sat next to me and my helmet rested on my lap. I was on my way to day one of course training.

The bus decelerated and stopped to pick up and drop off people. Then we would continue on again. And on and on this same process for about an hour.

I sat solemnly.
It's not as though I wasn't excited to take the class and to get one step closer to having my very own motorcycle, I was excited. But it's more complicated than that. It's always more complicated.

I didn't buy that helmet and I didn't pay for that class. And I won't be paying for my motorcycle or gear.

I brought along the helmet with the off chance that it might actually fit me. Though, I knew it was way to big from the start. I wanted it to fit me so badly then. I needed someone else to tell me though. I guess I just could let myself down.

Bump after bump and brake and accelerate. I sat with that helmet in my lap. It was protected by a felted sleeve and masked from the common eye. My anxiety was high as I held it close to me. I guarded it as though it were a hurt puppy or a sick baby, protectively. I realized then why I didn't want it to fit me. I couldn't possibly wear it without feeling that I might break it, and therefore break sweet memories.

I'd been giving it more life than it had. Feeling as though it were more animate. It represented Seth to me and I gave it that value. I finally admitted to myself that if I were to drop that helmet I wouldn't be hurting Seth and I wouldn't lose my memories. It's not him. And it doesn't matter if it fits my head or not. It's not him, it's just a helmet. Also, he would be happy if it fit me and he'd shrug it off if it didn't. No sweat.

I sat in class and during a pause I kept thinking about how excited I was to be there. I daydreamed about all the cool places I'd be able to go and all the beautiful things I'd see. But that excitement and daydreaming was constantly shadowed by my aching sadness. Not just the sadness of loss but the sadness of benefiting from loss. It just lingered there to remind me of how I was able to be there. But I CAN'T feel guilty! He wouldn't want me to.

I was so angry though. He should still be here. He should be taking that class with me (He probably wouldn't have though. He already knew it all.) We should be planning a road trip, all of us. We should be talking about the cabins we want to build someday. And the national parks we want to visit, or revisit. He shouldn't be gone!!!!



The bus stopped and I gathered my things and headed up to the range. I sat on the curb and waited for the first group to finish they're class. One of the instructors asked if I was there for the second class and if I had brought my own helmet or needed to borrow one. I said I was there for the next class and that I had brought a helmet but didn't know if it fit right. I slipped it over my head and he said it was much too big and that I'd need to go try some of the smaller ones on in the storage shed.

It was very strange how relieved I was that it didn't fit. I felt clear mined and detached from my previous unhealthy attachment to it. I was ready for class. I was ready to make Seth proud. And I know I did, I scored high in both the written and riding tests. I now hold a certificate of completion that will get me a discount at the DMV and on my motorcycle insurance. One step closer.





In a previous post "Bikes and Stuff", I stated that I would share a particular dirt bike story but another time. I feel this is an appropriate segue (ha ha, that's the first time I've ever spelled that word and I spelled it right! I'm easily impressed sometimes.) for this story. It involves a 1974 Yamaha Enduro 250. So, here goes.

Seth and I were at the barn where I board my horse and where he kept his bike. I believe we went out there for the sole purpose of him taking me for a ride on his dirt bike. I felt really honored that he offered to take me around the field and up and down the road a bit. Before he let me hop on though, he needed to "warm-up" the bike (it did need to be warmed up, it was pretty old). This consisted of a lot of idling and then some good ol' rev'ing of the engine to sound cool. Then...well, he just wanted to show off for his sister and took off through the field and rip roared up and down the strip closest to the driveway. He pulled some wheelies and kicked up a bunch of dirt as he sped up and down the field. After a few rounds of his fun looking stunts, he came by and picked me up. Then we rip roared (probably slower) up and down the field and along the street. I had a really nice time and enjoyed riding with him. We called it a day and headed to the gate. I hopped off and opened the gate and closed it after he was through. He stopped and waited for me to remount.

Side note: Something you should know about that bike. It was... from 1974, not the cleanest bike. It wasn't in mint condition and it's rear fender was torn/ripped leaving a rusty piece of jagged metal that extended only a fraction of the amount that it should have. Thus leaving the tire exposed except for a small handle and of course that lovely piece of metal. Also the following incident happened in a matter of seconds. Like maaybe 2 seconds. Ah, heck if I know. It was quick though.

 Continue...I jumped on and held on loosely to his waist and propped my feet on the pegs. He situated the weight, pulled the throttle a bit then slipped the clutch or let it out faster than a regular smooth release action. With that the bike flung forward. I was not ready for that. I clung to Seth's waist as my legs slipped off the rear end and began to drag on the moving tire and gravely driveway. I lost grip of his waist and for some reason grabbed for that little bar on the back and had it for a split second. Anyway I finally let go, which was about the time he was able to come to a complete stop. I was livid.
"What the heck, why did you do that?!!!" I said.
"I'm sorry, I was trying to do a burnout!" his brotherly response.

I came away with a small bloody puncture wound  on my right knee from pointy rock, some dirty scrapes, and a massive bruise on my inner thigh. Oh yeah, and a gnarly story to tell about my awesome brother who just wanted me to be proud of him. I was and am.

I was mad that day of course but we soon reconciled and even laughed about it as we retold it. We would occasionally bring up how we were both surprised and amazed that I didn't get shredded up by the literally torn off rear metal fender. I'm proud of the scars on my knees and I like to think of all that that day was to me. It was more than an accident. We were getting closer to a really good brother/sister relationship. He wanted to spend time with me and show off his bike and his riding skills. He wanted me to be proud of him.

I will not be ashamed of him in life or in death. He is BA "Best Ever"!!!!!! I love you Seth Thomas Bachtel.


Thank you,
Sarah